


sweet to tongue and sound to eye

by advancingambition



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Dancing, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Healthy Relationships, Magic, Power Dynamics, adora's a first one, adora's unnerving but she doesnt do it on purpose, but i make the first ones fairies, lots of kissing because i think they deserve it, not fairies as in tinkerbell but fae as in like. midsummer night's dream, the inherent homoeroticism of cutting fruit for your lover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24367543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/advancingambition/pseuds/advancingambition
Summary: The First Ones were fair folk, and Adora is no exception.
Relationships: Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 146
Kudos: 368





	1. we must not look at goblin men, we must not buy their fruits

**Author's Note:**

> chapter and work title from the poem "goblin market" by christina rossetti which was a huge inspiration for the first section of this work.  
>  i wanted to write about fairies. i'm not following any particular mythology, but this is very much inspired by celtic fairy tales. tentative background for this work; horde prime is defeated, and restoring the magic to etheria caused the innate magic in adora to return.   
> expect magic, nature, and pretty women. no content warnings for this chapter :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we don't know much about the first ones so i decided to make them fae, because that's much cooler than them just being pretty much human.

She cuts a peach,

Silver of the blade parting the soft golden-orange flesh, the skin of the fruit giving in to the barest pressure of the blade, juice spilling between her fingers, caressing the skin of her knuckle to drip down her hand and the curve of her wrist,

She knows without knowing to cut the fruit into three even sections, leaving the pit of the fruit in the section she holds in her right hand, penknife balanced between her fingers,

A small smile; Adora offers Catra the two glistening sections in her left hand, holding her right hand and its possession closer to her chest, giving a choice of peach thirds without giving her a choice at all.

Catra catches Adora’s eyes, bemused at the sudden intensity of breakfast, and takes the proffered fruit, fingers brushing Adora’s over the slick meat of the fruit. Adora blinks, eyes wide like saucers, face flushing with pleasure, lips pulling into a small smile.

They finish breakfast in a comfortable silence, toast with jam, milk and honey, eggs- sunny-side up- all gone from the Bright Moon china without haste. Catra helps herself to an extra serving of milk while Adora uses her toast to soak up the bright yellow yolk, enjoying the juxtaposition of the flavors. She wraps the pit in a napkin and puts it in her breast pocket.

At the end of the meal the tray given to them is a mess, and Adora’s silverware lays undisturbed to the right of her plate, shining in the early morning light.

***

To Catra, Adora remains home. She is a bastion of safety and familiarity, even after all their strife and years apart. She’s changed, sure, but Catra would know Adora blind. After the defeat of Horde Prime they fit together even better than they had before, and Catra luxuriates in the belonging love she had never really allowed herself to feel before.

But Adora has also Changed, in several almost imperceptible ways. Not since she left the Horde, either, and not even since rescuing Catra.

But in the space between settling back into her rightful role as She-Ra and now, Adora has become different. Not different, however, in any way opposing the Adora Catra knew and loved.

She just,

Well,

Was _more_.

The Rebellion would have people believe that Adora was a goody-two-shoes, eternally kind-hearted and patient.

And Adora was, really.

Mostly.

But Catra also knew better. Knew Adora better than that.

Adora had always, _always_ had a mischievous streak, and for the most part it was always innocent, always buried under layers of self-control and rule following, and now that the war was finally over she was able to indulge her love of light-hearted pranks and practical jokes more than ever. But the sparkle in her eye when Catra caught her bending rules or working around them- that was brighter and more intense than anything she recognized.

Catra had not considered Adora capable of much cunning, but Adora had been set on proving her wrong, recently. She was still friendly edges and warm smiles, rule-following and fierce protectiveness (often bordering on possessiveness), but her understated guile often left Catra reeling. Adora was still Adora, she was just _more_ so than usual.

***

Magic hadn’t had any place in the Fright Zone except as a tool of Shadow Weavers, so getting used to magic in Bright Moon had been a challenge. She’d been wary at first, and was still hesitant to truly embrace it, but Catra had come to understand that magic itself was a benign force, and that the intention of the wielder and environment is what made it light or dark, neither or both.

She was beginning to understand, too, that magic came in more forms than she ever knew.

After She-Ra had restored Etheria, the magic and plant life had boomed. Sorcerers across the planet had remarked on the new strength and vitality of the magic, and its ease of access was making it much easier to rebuild the planet. Glimmer and her father had experienced a boost from the restored magic, and Catra secretly suspected that Adora was as well.

Surely She-Ra’s whole magic _thing_ was to blame for Adora’s _off_ behavior.

But it wasn’t dangerous or unpleasant, and was actually pretty amusing, so Catra didn’t bring up her concerns with anyone.

***

They were lying in the grass in the Whispering Woods.

Catra and Adora had decided to spend the night in the woods as a sort of camping getaway from the reconstruction efforts in Bright Moon, and Glimmer and Bow had encouraged them. The kitchen staff had packed them a picnic basket with enough food for a week, they had borrowed a tent and bedroll from the armory, and had took off into the woods with the promise to return whenever they were ready.

And so they lay in a small clearing, dwarfed by the surrounding trees, full moons heavy in the sky. They had built a small fire to fight off the impending chill of autumn, but their tent poles lay abandoned by a nearby tree. Catra and Adora lay curled up in the bedroll, observing the fireflies and plants around them in companionable silence.

Adora caught Catra’s gaze, and gave her a small, wonderful smile. Bringing her hands up to cup her soft jaw, Adora lightly ran her thumbs over the curve of Catra’s cheeks, admiring the soft fuzz and freckles to be found there. Catra lifted her chin, silently asking for a kiss, and Adora lowered her head to brush Catra’s lips with her own. She peppered Catra’s face with several small kisses, making her squirm and scrunch her nose, before pressing her lips to Catra’s again and giving her a deep kiss. Adora broke away with a smile, breath coming in a little harder than before. She leaned back down, gently running her nose over Catra’s face before nipping the apple of her cheek, making Catra yelp in surprise. Catra scowled at Adora, making her laugh before she leaned back down to soothe the mark with small kisses, running her hands through Catra’s wild hair, which was now shoulder length.

Adora rolls them till they both lie on their sides facing each other, tucking Catra’s face into the crook of her neck by pulling gently on the back of her head. She rests her hand on Catra’s warm hip under the blanket of their cot and continues to twirl her fingers in Catra’s hair. The breeze picks up, causing Catra to pull the thick blanket tighter around them. Aside from the sound of the leaves overhead, and their own breathing, it’s silent.

Adora hums, and Catra purrs in response, and soon they are both asleep under the canopy and the stars.


	2. who knows upon what soil they fed, their hungry thirsty roots?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora and Catra test the limits of unreality in the Whispering Woods.

When Catra wakes up, Adora is gone.

Her shoes are absent from the side of the cot, so Catra figures she just got up to use the bathroom. Their fire has died down, casting long shadows around the clearing, and the air temperature has dropped so drastically that Catra can now see her breath crystallize in front of her face. She shivers, watching the smoke rise from the fire and disappear into the treetops.

She waits for Adora, but after ten minutes she decides to go find her. Not, of course, because she’s clingy, or worried -certainly not- she’s just, perhaps, bored. She stands, lamenting her lack of shoes when her feet hit the cold moss below, and draws the blanket around her like a cloak. She walks seven paces to the left, and is very thankful for her night vision when the fire’s light dies behind her.

Catra walks further into the trees, periodically whisper-shouting Adora’s name. There’s no one but Adora around to be disturbed by her voice, but for some reason she can’t bear to raise her voice louder than a whisper. The trees are getting closer together, and less moonlight passes through the branches. The air is even colder away from the fire, and frost begins to crunch beneath her feet. She walks further, heartbeat pounding in her ears when she still can’t find Adora.

In her panic, Catra trips over a tree root, landing face first in a patch of small, red mushrooms. She splutters, wiping the grime off her face, and sits back on her heels.

And then, about seven yards away, she sees her.

Adora peers at Catra, face mostly hidden by the gnarled trunk of the tree she is standing behind. She steps out from her hiding place and for a moment, Catra thinks Adora is in her She-ra form- she looks, well,

Different.

Her hair is long. Longer than it usually is. Even longer than it is as She-ra. It hangs loose around her face, flaxseed-gold waves falling past her shoulders to brush the tops of her thighs. She’s not wearing her normal uniform, either; a sheer gown hangs around her shoulders, hugging the curve of her hip in a way that makes Catra shudder. The muslin hides little, especially not in the cold air, and the sight of her makes Catra burn up inside. Adora’s eyes shine animal-bright in the dim, and she smiles at Catra, teeth glinting. She giggles at Catra’s clumsiness, and instead of her usual full-bodied laugh, it sounds like bells.

Adora walks over to where Catra sits in the underbrush and offers her hand. She pulls Catra to her feet, blanket falling to pool around her ankles. Catra has so many questions _-“What the fuck, Adora?”_ chief among them- but Adora wraps her hands around Catra’s waist and pulls her in for a kiss before she gets the chance to ask. The air is now freezing, leaves are falling from the trees where Catra could have sworn the vivid colors of Autumn were just beginning to paint them moments ago, but Adora is warm, and soft, and smells like the sweetness of home after a long journey.

Adora tugs Catra deeper into the woods, playfully.

“Dance with me,” she asks.

Catra is unnerved, so, _so_ unnerved, but is powerless to resist.

Adora holds her right hand in her own and moves Catra’s left hand to rest on her hip, mirroring the placement of Adora’s hand on her body. She moves them back three paces, then seven to the left, forward three more, an on and on to a slow tune imperceptible to Catra. Dancing is usually Catra’s thing, like at princess prom, but Adora’s endearing clumsiness is absent. They dance until Catra’s feet begin to ache from the ground, and past that. It starts snowing, flakes floating down between the branches and needles of the evergreens. They catch on Adora’s eyelashes and the tips of Catra’s ears.

Catra’s breath clouds the small space between their faces. Adora’s does not.

Catra feels magnetized. The longer they dance, the fewer worries she feels. She doesn’t question the change in weather, or wardrobe, or Adora’s strange smiles. Catra leans forward to press her face into the soft skin of Adora’s chest left bare by her dress. She feels pressure on her head and realizes that an evergreen crown rests over her ears. She looks up to find Adora wearing a crown of holly, sees berries red and pearlescent like blood peaking out from behind the waxy points of the leaves. 

She looks luminescent. Adora cradles her in her strong arms, fingers pressing insistently into her back and shoulders, and presses a kiss to the crown of her head. She runs her fingers over the fuzzy edges of Catra’s ears, traces the delicate curve of her brow with her middle finger, and catches her chin between her thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up. Adora’s thumb rests on her bottom lip, and Catra takes the end of her finger in her mouth, biting gently as revenge for earlier. Adora laughs, bright and easy, and kisses Catra as the snow falls around them.

Adora glows warm not like the sun, but rather like a bonfire; wild and unruly. Catra deepens the kiss and Adora hums into her mouth. Her hands rest possessively on her back. Adora pinches Catra’s side, just to see her jolt, and laughs into the kiss, soothing the mark with a press of her fingers.

Adora presses her fingers in harder, and Catra breaks away from the kiss with a gasp. She feels overheated and dizzy, but she wouldn’t want to stop for anything. She leans back up to kiss Adora, but has to strain on her toes to reach her when Adora leans back just to tease. Catra sighs in relief when she finally catches Adora’s mouth again. Adora’s hands move to cup the back of her head.

She tastes like blackcurrant wine.

***

Catra wakes up back in their bed at Bright Moon.

Her feet ache. 

The sudden change of scenery shocks her and she jolts to a sitting position, blankets piling around her. Adora gives her a bemused look from where she sits on the side of the bed. In the hearth in front of the mattress, a fire burns bright and healthy, filling their bedroom with a warm golden light and the wild scent of pine. The longer she’s awake, the less she can remember of what had worried her. She shrugs it off and wiggles over to where Adora sits, putting her head in her lap and rubbing her face into the soft plane of her stomach.

Adora smiles and rests her hand between Catra’s soft ears.

“I got you breakfast,” she says.

Catra rolls over onto her back, head still in Adora’s lap, and pouts. She’s too comfortable being pet to sit up to eat. Adora laughs at her girlfriend’s slothful nature, and hums, reaching beside her to lift a biscuit off the tray. The biscuit already has honey and butter spread over it, just how Catra likes. Adora lifts the biscuit to her mouth and takes a bite, holding Catra’s gaze the whole time. She chews and swallows, still playing with Catra’s hair. She licks her lips sweetly before bringing the biscuit down to Catra’s mouth, silently offering to feed her. Catra finishes the biscuit and sighs in contentment, while Adora reaches back over to the tray. Adora picks up a slice of peach, one of three, and offers it to Catra, who opens her mouth petulantly. Adora rolls her eyes, secretly pleased, and feeds Catra the peach as well. She neglects to say anything when Catra’s rough tongue brushes against her fingertips more than absolutely necessary.

But it’s alright. More than alright. Catra neglects to mention that peaches are much, much out of season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from "goblin market" as well! i'm enjoying the direction this fic is headed in. please let me know what you think! :)


	3. you should not peep at goblin men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fae unreality feat. our two favorite lesbians.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild body horror warning for this chapter! neither catra nor adora are hurt, however. just me playing with biology ;) chapter title from "goblin market"

Catra wakes up in the middle of the night.

The details of their room slowly settle in around her; frost settles at the corners of their large windows, the wind blows softly outside. It’s snowing again, and Catra blearily takes a moment to watch the snowflakes fall. Snow covers the visible edges of Bright Moon castle and the forest beyond, blanketing everything with a shimmering white that seems to make the night even quieter. The fire has died, but Catra can tell it wasn’t very long ago because of the residual warmth that lingers in their room. Catra cuddles into the large pile of quilts draped over her before turning to face Adora’s side of the bed. Adora’s spot is empty, and Catra reaches out to feel her pillow is cool, so she knows Adora has been out of bed for a while.

Catra sighs, and sits up, putting her legs over the edge of the bed and curling her toes in the thick pile of the carpet. She stands and stumbles to the bathroom where she can see Adora standing over the sink through the open door. Catra leans on the doorframe and watches her.

In the mirror, Catra can see that Adora’s fingers are in her mouth; they strain for a moment before pulling something out of her mouth. Adora sits he prize on the edge of the counter before ducking her head and sighing in what sounds like relief. Catra steps to Adora’s side and places her hand on her shoulder in concern, Adora whips her face around to look at her, eyes wide and animal-bright. Her lips are smeared with blood, and when Adora reaches out to take her hand, Catra sees that her fingers are too.

Adora turns Catra’s hand over and brings her fingers to her mouth.

Catra is petrified with -fear? trepidation? She doesn’t have the words to describe what she feels in the moment between Adora taking her fingers and moment she takes them into her mouth.

Adora guides her hand past her lips, carefully, and runs Catra’s finger slowly, slowly along the ruined mess of her gums, right where her canine should be.

Catra’s eyes go round, gasping in shock. Adora presses the Catra’s fingertip further into her gums and Catra feels, she feels,

The point of another tooth.

Adora moves Catra’s finger to the opposite side of her mouth, letting her feel the twin horror there. Adora presses Catra’s finger to her gum harder, eyes fluttering shut, and Catra’s eyes widen further when she realizes that the points of Adora’s new teeth are _sharp_ : thicker than her own slender fangs, but still decidedly carnivorous.

Adora moves Catra’s hand again, making her cup the side of her face. She nuzzles into Catra’s palm briefly before resting her head on Catra’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. Catra feels dizzy: the fur stands on end over her entire body. Adora’s holding her softly, sweetly, like she hadn’t just pulled two teeth out of her mouth in the middle of the night. Catra’s spent her entire life surrounded by humans. She knows that they only have two sets of teeth, and they certainly, certainly don’t have _fangs._ Over Adora’s shoulder, Adora’s reflection catches the corner of her eye. Catra’s entire body feels cold.

In her arms, Adora’s hair barely brushes the tops of her shoulders-

In the mirror, her hair hangs down past her hips- spun gold shining in the low light.

Catra slams her eyes shut, before the white dress mirror-Adora is wearing tugs any harder on the hazy memory lingering in the back of her mind, before Adora’s holly-wreath crown makes her think too hard, before Adora’s shifting un-reality steals any more of her breath.

Adora straightens, lifting Catra into a bridal carry. Adora walks them out of the bathroom and to their bed. Catra keeps her eyes closed the whole way there. Adora softly drops Catra to the bed and crawls in beside her, pulling the quilts tight around her. Catra shivers.

When she opens her eyes, the fire glows warm in the hearth.

Catra looks at Adora, who smiles widely. It should look childish, with two missing teeth, should look innocent, but it doesn’t. Adora looks simultaneously unholy and divine. It makes Catra’s stomach flip. Adora pulls her closer, tangling their legs together, and kisses her chastely. Adora’s arms surround her, and Catra knows deep in her soul that despite the Adora’s new strangeness, the mind-bending unreality that she can only see out of the corner of her eye, Adora would never knowingly hurt her.

Catra has never been human. She doesn’t know what it’s like. She begins to realize that Adora doesn’t, either.

Catra has always been wary of magic, distrustful of its unknown nature. But maybe, if it’s Adora, she doesn’t have to know it to embrace it. She knows Adora, knows the weight of both her affection and protection. Adora loves Catra with her whole soul, and Catra decides that it’s alright if it’s less human, more magical than she thought. Catra loves Adora regardless of the skin she wears. She can only hope, however, that someday soon Adora will learn to show her whatever lies underneath.

***

When Catra wakes up, Adora is curled up beside her. There are no teeth laying on the basin of the sink, no blood staining the white porcelain. A red robin sits on their windowsill. It’s built a nest out of holly in the drift of snow outside the window. 

Catra turns to watch Adora. Her face is soft in sleep; blonde hair splayed over the pillow like rays of light. Soft lashes brush rosy cheeks, and Catra realizes that Adora looks healthier, more whole than she ever did in the Horde.

Between her parted lips, Catra can see the shining points of two new, sharp teeth.

Catra curls into Adora’s side, laying her head on her chest to hear her heartbeat and to feel the rise and fall of her breast as Adora breathes. She smells like peaches. Catra catches a lock of Adora’s hair between her fingers and laughs quietly to herself.

It’s inhumanly soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all's comments have helped me so much! i'm so glad people are enjoying this. predictions, comments, and ramblings are always welcome, so please let me know what you think :)


	4. one hauls a basket, one bears a plate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora and Catra travel to Plumeria by horseback to attend a winter festival. Catra even wears shoes, but only because it's snowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they ride an actual horse because i /hate/ swift wind. i'm sorry, there's just something about talking ponies that just does not vibe with this fic, and so catra and adora ride a very normal, very non-verbal horse, thank you very much. title once again from "goblin market"

It’s the week before the winter solstice, and Catra has never seen Bright Moon castle so busy.

Glimmer made Catra and Adora official court ambassadors, in order to “facilitate post war harmony,” or at least that’s what she said it was for. Catra was pretty sure Glimmer _actually_ made them court ambassadors because she knew Adora would go crazy without some sort of daily task. And Catra, loath as she was to admit it, couldn’t even begrudge her the decision, because she knew Glimmer was right. 

Their position as ambassadors also meant, however, that they would have to take the day-long journey to Plumeria, where the annual Yule festival was being held, on horseback, while _Queen_ Glimmer stayed at Bright Moon to oversee the kingdom’s own winter festivities. It was fine. Really. Not like Catra was feeling upset about how cold she knew the journey was going to be.

Okay, maybe it was a little not fine. But she was only upset because she knew she’d have to wear shoes if she had any hope of surviving a day long journey in Etheria’s winter.

All this leading to where they sit now, in Bright Moon’s great hall, while Adora loudly discusses everyone’s responsibilities for the next too weeks, and explains why they have to this, and that, and why the rules of the season forbid them from traveling by any other means except foot or horseback.

Catra groans quietly, exasperated already with all the rules, but listens to Adora speak anyways.

As Adora explains the rules of the festival, Catra can feel something tense and electric-sharp form in the air. The timber of Adora’s voice sounds like knots, invisible and intangible to all but her mind’s eye. Catra sits up a little straighter, and watches Adora as speak, enraptured.

The longer she goes on, the taller Adora seems to stand. As Adora speaks about the social intricacies of the festival, Catra can see something bright shine in her eyes.

They seem much more silver than usual.

Adora catches Catra’s gaze, flashing her a grin, more teeth than strictly friendly, and continues on.

Across the table, Catra can see that Glimmer looks unusually tense. She sits at attention, fingers gripping the edge of the meeting table like her life depends on it. Catra meets her eye and lifts an eyebrow, while Glimmer blinks in shock. Catra doesn’t need words to know what Glimmer is thinking; _Adora? Using magic? What the fuck?_ Catra shrugs in acknowledgement, secretly relieved that someone else has finally noticed the weirdness surrounding Adora, even if it is _Queen_ Sparkles. 

Adora nods to Glimmer, signaling that she’s done with her speech. Glimmer stands, shakily, and dismisses the meeting. The look she gives Catra before they leave tells her that they’ll discuss whatever the _hell_ just happened later.

***

Later, it turns out, is code for _never_.

When Catra asks Glimmer about Adora’s strange new behavior, Glimmer seems to have no idea of what she’s talking about. But Catra knows what she’s seen, knows Glimmer saw it too, and figures that Glimmer’s denial of Adora’s new magical nature is some sort of subconscious defense mechanism.

Magic is weird like that

…she thinks.

It took Catra months to consciously acknowledge that something was up with Adora, after all, so she decides to not press Glimmer too much. If, after the winter holidays Glimmer still doesn’t ask about Adora, Catra thinks she’ll just lock the two of them in the closet until Glimmer finally notices whatever the _fuck_ is going on with Adora.

Just because Catra’s accepting of (and to be honest, a little excited by) Adora’s new nature doesn’t mean she can’t try to figure out what is causing it and why.

***

They stand outside Bright Moon’s stables, moments from setting off to Plumeria. Adora finishes packing their saddle bags, and pauses briefly, face turned upward to bask in the early morning light

Catra, meanwhile, pauses to bask in the sight of Adora.

Glimmer had commissioned them both new outfits for the Yule festivities, and Catra couldn’t help but send a prayer of thanks to whoever designed Adora’s new clothes. Adora wears a new red undershirt with a high, starched collar. Her black overcoat, fastened with what seems like a hundred tiny, golden buttons, is more of a cloak, and hangs down to her mid-thigh. Her pants, white and form fitting, are tucked into sensible black riding boots.

Catra watches her put one foot in the stirrup and pull herself into the horse’s saddle, and admires how her forearms peek out from the slits of her cloak, how her red sleeves cinch at the wrists, and how even more impossibly small golden buttons glitter there.

Adora looks down at her, and the blonde hair peeking out of her red felt cap catches the light, making her appear ethereal in the chill. Adora gathers the reigns in her right hand and reaches her left out, silently offering to help pull her up. Her gloves are black and dark, and Catra knows without taking Adora’s hands into her own that they are soft.

Catra takes Adora’s hand, puts one booted foot in the stirrup, and allows Adora to haul her up onto the horse. She takes a moment to settle into the saddle behind Adora before wrapping her arms around her waist so that Adora’s cloak covers her arms. She presses her face into Adora’s back, smiling softly, and nods in assent when Adora asks if she’s ready to set off. She turns her face so that her cheek presses into the wool, and watches as Bright Moon castle fades into the distance, and is finally obscured by trees.

***

Catra wakes slowly, realizing that at some point in their journey she must have fallen asleep. It’s dusk, and the dying light makes the surrounding landscape sparkle a soft purple-blue. Catra feels Adora’s slow breaths and hears the crunch of the horse’s hooves as each step it takes breaks the ice below them. The trees surrounding them are evergreens, impossibly tall and each blanketed in a glittering layer of snow. Icicles hang from the branches like beads, and Catra notices how cold she is. She shivers, and pulls Adora closer, tightening her arms around her middle.

Catra closes her eyes, ears swiveling to listen to the forest around her. She can hear the wind, muffled by the trees, and the cry of an owl in the distance. There’s a humming, low drone of sound, and Catra opens her eyes when she realizes that Adora is singing. It’s almost unnoticeable, and it blends into the background of the woods, but Catra realizes she can feel the timber of Adora’s voice resonate in her chest where her cheek presses into her.

At first Catra thinks the tune is wordless, but the longer she listens, the more she focuses, the more she realizes it’s not.

Adora is singing in a language Catra has never heard before, and it makes her ears perk up.

She focuses and catches hard consonants and hitching vowels. Adora’s singing at no more than a whisper, but Catra can follow the pattern of her words, feel a cadence unlike anything she’s ever heard before. Catra can’t ever remember hearing Adora sing before, but now that she is it feels like she was born to do it.

There’s a fluttering, and Catra looks up to see a robin has landed on Adora’s shoulder. It hops, turning its little head down to look at Catra, and she flicks her ear at it, hoping to shoo it away. The bird, however, doesn’t take the hint, and just cocks its small, red head at her.

Catra sighs, and closes her eyes, and lets Adora’s voice lull her back to sleep.

***

She wakes up to Adora softly squeezing her knee,

“We’re here,” she says. She sounds excited.

She gives Catra time to straighten up before dismounting their horse. She holds her hand out and helps Catra down, eyes gleaming. For a moment, Catra can do nothing but look at her in awe.

Adora stands, blanketed by moonlight, and she looks like every forbidden thing Catra has ever wanted.

Her pale cheeks are flushed, lips wind-chapped and dark, and her nose is rosy pink from the cold. She looks wild, and free, and Catra wants to eat her whole. Catra thinks, privately, that she wouldn’t mind if Adora, freshly cut teeth and all, wanted to eat her whole, too.

Adora sends her a conspiratorial wink and guides their horse over to the stable. She leads it to an empty stall, third from the left, and unbuckles the saddlebags. She sits the bags to the side and frees the horse from the saddle, pausing to brush it down gently, and lays a soft blanket over its flank. She pats its side gently, and thanks it for bring them out to Plumeria before ducking out of the stall with the saddle bags, latching the gate as she goes. She offers Catra the arm not holding the bags, and together they walk towards the campground in the distance.

The closer they get, the less quiet the air around them becomes. Catra can hear a chorus in the distance and smell the smoke of the celebration she knows is waiting for them.

When they step into the clearing, Catra hesitates, stock-still in awe of the biggest bonfire she’s ever seen. It stands about three times’ Adora’s height and sends sparks even higher into the black night sky. As far as the eye can see, tents and tables dot the clearing, smaller fires spilled across the space between them like jewels. Adora laughs, and tugs her forward, propelling them in a stumbling walk until they’re halfway to the main fire. Adora pulls them into one of the few tents marked still empty by a red sash on the outside. She pulls the sash from the canvas and closes the flap of the tent behind them.

Inside, the tent is absolutely draped with carpets and tapestries. Partly for the aesthetic, and partly, Catra is sure, to help keep out the chill. Along the back wall sits a cot and a low table. The cot is piled with pillows and blankets, and the table is covered in red and white candles of varying heights.

Catra sighs. As much as she wants to curl up with Adora as soon as possible, she knows the night’s festivities are just beginning, and so she doesn’t resist as Adora sits their bags down and gently makes to guide her out of the tent.

But before Adora can force them both back out into the cold air, Catra stops them, pointing up. Above their heads hangs mistletoe, and Adora gasps sweetly when she sees it. Adora looks down at Catra and leans in, softly cupping her jaw to tilt her face upward.

Catra smiles against Adora’s lips before kissing her.

It starts off slowly, and deepens the longer they continue. Catra rests her hands on Adora’s waist, beneath her thick wool cloak, and Adora’s hand, the one that’s not cupping her face, rests cheekily on her rear. Catra laughs, deepens the kiss further, and runs her tongue over Adora’s new teeth. She presses against them, testing the point, until it hurts, and even a little after. She doesn’t let up until she tastes the sharp tang of copper.

Catra pulls away, finally, giving Adora one last peck on the lips. Adora’s breathing is heavy and shallow, and her eyes are wide. Her lips are parted, showing Catra the cute points of her teeth. Catra beams, flashing the curve of her own fangs, before bringing her thumb to Adora’s bottom lip, wiping off the small bead of blood there. She hugs Adora, who is still shell-shocked, before taking her by the hand and tugging her out of the tent and into the cold.

Neither of them pauses to catch the red feather that falls from Adora’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it's summer irl, but winter is THE superior season, so in this fic its winter, because i think my girls deserve to be able to cuddle up by a fire with a ton of blankets. Plumeria is celebrating the winter solstice, so I called the holiday Yule, partially because it fit and partially because i hate it when franchises include a Christmas-esque holiday for no reason (yes, i'm talking about star wars. life day can kiss my ass). i've really enjoyed reading and responding to y'all's comments, so please please don't hesitate to let me know what you think :)


	5. one lugs a golden dish, of many pounds weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's more romantic than a bonfire with your girlfriend? Why, talking about how you both almost died at the hands of an evil space dictator, in front of a bonfire, of course!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i used that "healthy relationships" tag and i am going to make this live up to it!

They walk closer to the bonfire, where they’re greeted by Perfuma, who greets them with a warm hug. She runs down a brief list of rules for the festival, and gives them an overview of the night’s festivities, before shooing them on.

Catra watches Adora smile in thanks, and has to restrain a laugh when she sees Perfuma’s eyes widen and the blood drain from her face in response.

Maybe Catra isn’t the only one to notice something different about Adora, after all.

They approach the fire hand in hand, pausing to lift a branch from the pile resting in front of it. Catra holds the right half of the branch, and Adora the left. They say the customary thanks, praising nature for providing, and toss the branch in the fire.

It sits undisturbed, momentarily, before slowly, slowly catching. They watch as the bark ignites, smoke pouring from it as layers peel away, and soon the entire branch is engulfed in flame. The night is cold, and the sky is black, aside from the silver-pale glow of the moons and stars overhead, but the fire is warm, and Adora looks revived in its soft golden light.

Catra can’t help but to let out a sigh of relief. Every time she looks at Adora, sees the absolute vibrance she holds, it reminds her how far they’ve come. Seeing Adora so present, so _alive_ makes Catra want to sob in relief, want to throw her hands up and thank every god she doesn’t believe in, because Catra can’t forget how she almost lost her. Can’t forget how close Adora came to falling into that last, final abyss, how she almost couldn’t catch Adora when it mattered the most.

She remembers the dead weight of Adora in her arms. She had been cold, impossibly heavy, a burden too heavy to lift and too precious to let go. Catra remembers how Adora’s head had lolled back, revealing the pale column of her throat, how her chest had been still, how it hadn’t risen with breath, how her entire body had just gone slack, had _given up_.

Catra refuses to tell anyone, refuses to mention it to Adora, refuses to acknowledge it herself anywhere but the back of her mind, but she knows that in those moments, Adora had been _dead_.

So if whatever force that had given Adora back to her deigned to give her back _more_ , Catra wouldn’t begrudge it. Maybe it was superstitious to worry that thinking about it would cause Adora to somehow be taken away, but it had left her altogether too raw to even entertain doubt.

Just this once, she wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

And so as Adora stepped away from the flames, offering given, Catra stands a moment longer, inclining her head in silent thanks. Her breath stutters with the reminder of what could have been, almost was, but she sees Adora, warm and soft, in the corner of her eye, and breathes it out. She lets the weight of it catch with their offering, and imagines it being released with the smoke and sparks of the fire.

Catra focuses on one ember as it lifts from the flames. She watches its erratic path upwards, dimming, until she finally loses sight of it, invisible among a backdrop of endless new stars.

She can feel tears running down her face, and normally being so vulnerable in public would mortify her, but right now she can’t bring herself to care.

Catra reaches out, and pulls Adora back to her side. She shakily tangles her own fingers with Adora’s and presses her face into her chest. If she focuses, if she ignores the crackle of woods and the buzz of voices in the distance, she can hear Adora’s heartbeat.

Everything she wants, everything she needs, is right here in front of her. She knows she’s getting tears and snot on Adora’s new jacket, but she knows Adora doesn’t mind, just like she knows that if she looks up she’ll see Adora’s face plastered with open concern and affection in equal measures.

Adora pets her hair, and softly asks if she’s okay.

Catra nods, unable to vocalize that they’re tears of relief, not grief, not trusting herself to speak without crying again. She lets Adora lead her over to one of the smaller fires, which is surrounded by low benches piled in thick quilts. Adora sits them down, tucking Catra into her side, and wraps one of the blankets around them.

They sit in comfortable silence while Catra calms down, and when her breath finally evens out, Adora speaks.

“I almost lost you too, y’know? When Horde Prime made you- when he made you jump over the ledge.” Her voice is raw, and quiet, and chin is tucked down against her chest, bowed to the weight of the past.

She looks up, and Catra can see that her eyes brim with unshed tears. When she speaks again, her voice is less than a whisper.

“I was so afraid that I had lost you, and that you wouldn’t come back to me,”

The tears drop down her cheeks now, and disappear to the snow below, try as Adora might to hold them back. Adora tugs Catra into her lap, and cries, free and quiet, into her shoulder. She unconsciously rocks them back and forth, arms squeezing Catra like her life depends on it.

They don’t need any more words than the few that have passed between them, old hurts healed by older love. Communication, once something they sorely lacked, now flows between them in a series of gentle touches, reverent glances, and smiles. Time together and apart has taught them both to listen to the space between words spoken, to mind the silence as much as speech.

Catra cups Adora’s face in her hands and presses a soft kiss to each tear-tracked cheek. Crying, together, has let the hurt out of them and, for now, it’s enough.

Adora’s eyes are open, and they’re lit from within.

Luminescent blue, shining in the night. Catra’s polestar in a world before heavenly bodies, her true, magnetic north.

This time, in Catra’s arms, Adora is warm, and she can feel the rise and fall of her breath. Adora is solid and present beside and beneath and around her. Catra could live in this moment for the rest of her days, safe and happy with Adora, but she knows the future holds even more for them.

Catra sprawls, dropping a leg to the ground, booted foot brushing the flowers peeking through the snow where Adora’s tears fell. She brings Adora’s hand to her mouth, kisses her knuckles, and enjoys the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried to explain catra's perspective on this all a bit better, so let me know how i did! you know when old couples have been together so long that they barely need talk any more? yeah, that's catra and adora. doing old old folk telepathy while also doing gay fairy shit in the woods.   
> thank you for reading! :)


	6. how fair the vine must grow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner parties and food symbolism, oh my

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my apologies for having this out so late. getting back in to fae weirdness. the next few chapters i have planned will contain more magical unreality/eeriness.

When the moons reach their zenith, Catra and Adora remove themselves from their cozy spot on the bench and make their way over to the other side of the main bonfire, where the festival’s first banquet of the week is being held.

Yes, they may have just been crying over their shared near-death experiences just moments ago, but far be it from Adora to miss a meal.

They stand in front of one of the longest tables Catra has ever seen, but her wonder is interrupted by the growl of Adora’s stomach. Adora blushes, embarrassed, but Catra just laughs, eyes crinkling with mirth. It was comforting and endearing to know that not even dying and coming back as some magical _something_ could affect her girlfriend’s appetite.

Perfuma stands at the head of the table, beckoning them over. As ambassadors, they have to sit in the chairs directly to her right. Adora pulls Catra’s seat out for her, pushing it back in once’s she’s seated, and takes the seat to her left. Catra scoots her seat closer to Adora, and leans her head on Adora’s shoulder.

In front of them, the table is piled high with more food than Catra has seen in her entire life. A red cloth runs down the middle of the table, and on it sit hundreds of candles, each a different height: some rest on candle sticks of wood, metal, or stone, and others sit directly on the fabric. Evergreen cuttings rest between the wax of the candles, fallen snow caught on the needles. Pinecones sit nestled in the greenery, and a slow inhale tells Catra that they’ve been perfumed- beneath the biting winter chill, the air is thick with smoke and spice.

Around them, large, silver platters gleam in the candlelight. On them rest steaming piles of food; baskets filled with breads and buns, bowls of red berries and dark sauce, plates of winter vegetables, meats, and small glittering cakes that are surely too beautiful to actually be eaten. Catra knows she should probably be paying more attention to whatever Perfuma is saying, that as ambassador she and Adora probably have some duty to fulfil, but Catra can’t resist the childish glee that comes with taking in her surroundings. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth, and Catra turns to rib Adora, to tell her that if princesses always celebrate like this it’s no wonder she’s gone soft, but when she turns, she sees that Adora isn’t looking at the table.

Adora is looking at her.

Catra’s heart flutters with the realization that Adora has been watching her ogle the décor, but Adora only smiles brightly, cheeks dimpling, and pulls Catra close to her. Adora skims her nose along the soft fuzz at Catra’s jaw, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before whispering in her ear,

“Let me fix you a plate,”

It’s a question, but it’s not phrased like one.

Catra doesn’t know why it makes her eyes go wide, or her heart pound, but it does.

She brings Catra food all the time: breakfast, lunch, fruit between mealtimes, coffee in the morning, tea in the evening. Adora brings her sweets just to see her smile, brings her meat pies from the kitchen because she knows they’re her favorite, brings her overripe fruit because she likes to watch the juice drip down her chin.

Adora is always doing little things to care for her, and Catra knows, now, that it’s not because she thinks Catra is weak, or incapable of taking care of herself. Catra knows, now, that what _Adora_ needs is to be needed. Catra knows that Adora does whatever she can to take care of her because it brings her pleasure to see Catra taken care of, to tend to her herself. It nearly overwhelms Catra, to be so gently treated by Adora, to be treated like the most precious thing in Etheria, to be covered with but not suffocated by the weight of her affections.

But Catra also knows that she’s not the only one getting something out of the exchange. Catra can see, clear as day how accepting Adora’s affection affects Adora: can see how it makes her eyes widen, how it makes her pupils dilate. Taking care of Catra makes Adora’s head spin with some illusive _something_ , and Catra knows the name for most of that _something_ is love, but she also knows that something else tints it. She can see how it makes Adora’s head spin, how it makes her mind buzz and her pulse throb.

Catra may not understand it, but that doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy the effect that she has on Adora, enjoy the weight and power her permission carries. 

And so she nods in assent, and admires the way Adora’s pupils expand, swallowing the cornflower blue of her irises.

She sits up, and Catra leans back into her own seat to let her free. She watches as Adora pulls a plate from the stack on the edge of the table, watching her weigh the options before her. Catra sees Adora place vegetables, pastries, meat, fruit, and things she doesn’t even have a name for on her plate. Adora hands her the plate, and Catra’s cheeks flush when she realizes that Adora has given her the best portion of everything.

Catra spares a moment to admire the way Adora smiles, almost shyly, before moving to prepare her own plate. She uses none of the careful consideration she made Catra’s plate with for her own, seemingly piling food on her plate haphazardly. It could be interpreted as haste, or hunger, but Catra knows it’s not.

Catra picks a berry off one of the serving platters before her while she watches Adora make her own plate, and pops it into her mouth, It’s red, and tart, and makes a satisfying pop-crunch when her teeth pierce it. Adora pours them both wine into dark glasses, and they wait until Perfuma gives the table her blessing before eating. Adora offers her glass for a toast, to nature, to life, to the mastery of destiny, and Catra taps the side of her own against it.

She drinks deeply-

and is not at all surprised to find it tastes like blackcurrants.

They eat their meal in comfortable silence, absorbing the buzz of conversation around them. The moons hang lower in the sky, and the snow is falling faster than it has in days. At their backs, the bonfire is warm, and on the table the candles have started to burn low. Wax runs heavy down the candles and candlesticks, melting into the cloth below like icing on a cake.

All that is left on Catra’s plate are a few red berries, like the one she took from the platter. She spears one with her fork, relishing the sound it makes, and brings it to her mouth.

It’s sweeter than the other.

Catra finishes her meal, and leans back into Adora’s side. She turns her face up to admire Adora in the low light. Adora’s hair catches the moonlight, the wisps framing her face giving her an almost halo. Her eyes are glazed, lips stained wine-dark, and at some point during dinner she’s undone the buttons on her high collar.

If Catra lets her eyes unfocus, she can see Adora with hip-length hair, crowned with holly and adorned like some old god.

It suits her.

Adora doesn’t wear this new nature like a second skin. She wears it like her _only_ skin, like the thought of her being born anything less than this was laughable. Adora has withstood the weight of Etheria’s magic and lived to laugh about it. She wears power like jewelry, like something bought and owned, and her casual command of the nature around her makes Catra’s stomach flip. Adora looks down at her and grins, wide. Her teeth shine, sharp and white, neither human nor animal, or possibly both, and all the more terrifying for it.

Soft heart, sharp teeth.

How could Catra possibly resist?

Adora leans down, claiming Catra’s mouth with a deep kiss, all earlier shyness gone. She tugs Catra’s bottom lip in between her teeth, giving her a sharp bite. It’s not near enough pressure to draw blood, but it makes Catra gasp and squirm a little closer. Adora wraps a lock of Catra’s hair around her finger, and tugs on that too. Catra pouts, and Adora gathers her into her arms and stands.

Adora nods goodnight to Perfuma, who shakily nods back, and begins the walk back to their tent. Catra squirms, just for appearance’s sake, but enjoys being in Adora’s strong arms too much to actually want to be let down. Within a few seconds, they’re back at their tent.

Catra doesn’t remember it being so close.

Adora opens the flap and steps through, gently sitting Catra on the cot amidst the blankets and pillows. The candles on the side table are lit, but no wax stains the wood beneath them. The air inside is warm, and smells like spice.

Adora takes her gloves off, sitting them on the table, before stooping down, to Catra’s hands in her own and remove her gloves, too. She softly runs her fingers over Catra’s knuckles and down her fingers, and then squeezes her palms and the heel of her hands tightly, working warmth back into her skin. 

Adora kneels, letting go of Catra’s hands to work on the buttons holding her boots up. Once she’s undone Catra’s boots, she tugs them off and sits them under the bed. She leans forward, pressing her face into Catra’s stomach, before wrapping her arms around her, hugging Catra tightly. Catra hums, enjoying the affection, and pulls Adora’s hat from her head. Her hair is plastered to her skull, and Catra pulls the band from her ponytail to let Adora’s hair fall free around her face. Catra retracts her claws, and digs her fingers into Adora’s scalp, laughing when Adora lets out a muffled, appreciative groan.

She runs her fingers through Adora’s hair for a few more minutes, admiring how long it’s gotten. It’s not as long as Catra feels it should be, not as long as it appears out of the corner of her eye or in the dark of their bedroom, but it’s much longer now than it had ever been in the horde. Now, Adora’s hair reaches the top third of her back, spilling over her shoulders like a curtain of golden light. Catra tugs on her hair, and Adora tilts her head back to look at her

Adora peers up at Catra through stupidly long lashes, and Catra can’t help the way it makes her stomach flutter. A draft moves through the tent, and the candles on the side table sputter out.

In the blackness of the room, Catra can see that Adora’s eyes glow in the dark.

Adora stands, pressing a kiss to Catra’s forehead, and moves to remove their pajamas from their bags. They undress quickly, and soon they’re both warm in their nightclothes. Adora gets into bed first, pushing most of the pillows to the floor, and Catra follows short after. They both lay facing the flap of the tent, Catra’s back pressed tight to Adora’s front. She can feel Adora’s warm breath ruffling her hair, and tucks Adora’s arm around her after she pulls the blankets up from the foot of the bed.

Catra laces her fingers with Adora’s; behind her, she feels much taller than usual.

She knows that if she turns around, opens her eyes to look at Adora, her hair will be cornsilk-gold down to her thighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you are attending protests, please be careful. if you aren't, please use whatever platform you may have to raise awareness. never flush tear gas from the eyes with anything but water. black lives matter and they always will. thank you for reading and stay safe.


	7. their offers should not charm us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra has a revelation, and the closing of one chapter bleeds into the beginning of the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for going mia! i have been so surprised at the positive reception this fic got, y'all's interest continually blows me away. this chapter is a little shorter than the others because i got to a stopping place sooner than i expected to, but i am pretty satisfied with how it turned out!

The days drip by, a blended mess of snow, fire, and voices lifted to the black. Open palms raised to the cold sky in celebration of magic, open arms in veneration of connections.  
Catra finds herself pulled further into Adora’s orbit than ever before.  
Time and life itself seems to fold around Adora; she follows the rules of the festival to a T, but casts aside the laws of nature like a burnt match.  
Catra watches Adora during the week, enraptured. She watches as her eyes turn quicksilver, watches her hair grow, watches her stand taller with every meal they take and sing louder with ever fire they burn. There’s no denying that Adora has changed. Adora, in her beautiful unreality, now exceeds the warnings given to Catra by even the scariest anti-magic horror stories in the Fright Zone.  
She truly is the princess of power, Catra thinks to herself, dryly.  
Adora laughs like god, and nature itself answers. She lifts her hands to the sky, and Catra swears she can feel the moonlight settle around them in gossamer sheets. Their tent stays warm, their goblets stay filled, and their plates remain piled with more food than Catra could ever want.  
When Catra goes to retrieve their clothing from the saddlebag, she gets hit with the almost overwhelming scent of pine, and something she knows but for the life of her cannot place. Everything new about Adora is somehow familiar to Catra. The magic she wears and unknowingly wields fits into their lives like an old friend, its presence no stranger than a homecoming. It reminds Catra of their childhood in the Horde, of how Catra would look down from the top bunk and through the dim see Adora’s eyes gleaming back, a private wildness hidden to everyone but Catra. Catra watches Adora, and in return receives a new perspective on their childhood.  
On the surface, Adora is decidedly unmagical. She can’t use spells like Glimmer, or Glimmer’s father or her Aunt. She deals in combat and battle plans, and feels at home being worked to the bone. Catra used to think the limit of Adora’s magic was her eight-foot tall glowy princess form, but now she realized otherwise. Adora doesn’t wield magic like the other princesses, doesn’t use it like a weapon or even a loved tool, no. Catra thinks of quick glances, the careful brush of fingers, the way the whispering woods part for her like a curtain.  
Adora doesn’t wield magic like Shadow Weaver, like Glimmer, or even like Castaspella. She doesn’t use it at all, not intentionally, but isn’t used by it, either. Adora is magic, an extension of Etheria made flesh.  
Which unfortunately explains why she was always Shadow Weaver’s favorite.  
The thought of it all makes Catra sick. Adora’s position as Shadow Weaver’s prodigy was due to the fact that the woman saw her as a tool, a reservoir of untapped magical potential. Catra looks over to where Adora is sitting next to her, and Adora smiles when she catches her eye, cheeks dimpling sweetly. She pulls Catra closer and kisses the top of her head. Catra feels Adora smiling into the base of her ear, and her heart clenches.  
Adora gently, gently tests the points of her teeth on the soft inside of Catra’s wrists and the pads of her fingers, sharp and playful, mischievous but never malicious.  
They draw the attention of the other festival attendees, and even Perfuma can’t completely ignore Adora’s behavior. She fulfils her duty as ambassador perfectly, but the revelry is breathtaking. Adora watches the women at the festival watch them, doesn’t resist the urge to rest a possessive hand on Catra’s small waist. She watches the party goers more, and kisses Catra, teeth and fire, just because she can. She breaks away, and Adora leads them into another dance.  
This time, the tune isn’t inaudible, and the melody is much quicker. Adora laughs, her dorky smile now sharp-edged, and twirls Catra around the clearing.  
It doesn’t have the same dangerous energy as their first dance in the forest, now so hazy to Catra’s memory, but she loves it all the same. They laugh together, their breaths forming clouds which mingle in front of their faces before dissipating into the blackness. Adora’s hair is plaited into three even sections, each weighted by a red, glass bead, and Catra adores the way they swing around Adora’s face as they move through the clearing.  
In the past, they faced so much pain and miscommunication and failure. In the past, they weighed each other and found the other wanting, in the past they let unspoken words drive them apart. But now, everything is almost saccharine. Catra is safe in the warmth that surrounds Adora, protected in the life that she draws out of the dead of winter. She needs Adora, wants her, and she knows that Adora feels the same way about her. Her hand in her hand, her teeth on her neck, her breath by her ear, Catra wants it all. She wants, and Adora gives and takes, gives like her heart bled and took, took, _took_ like she was owed.  
Catra wants it all-  
Adora gives it to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments and kudos................give me nourishment...... i unfortunately havent been able to respond to them all (school, depression, you know how it goes) but i do read them all and think about them all the time. thank you so much for sticking with me to this point! and as always...........please let me know what you think <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think! i'm always open to ideas. i plan on including some light body horror in future chapters and a better explanation of fae/first one's magic.


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